


spellbound

by littlestarsaligned



Series: boy problems, who's got 'em? [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Genderswap, Let's go lesbians!, Magic, Strangers to Lovers, Witches, also norenmin..kind of, implied markhyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 15:24:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17428535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestarsaligned/pseuds/littlestarsaligned
Summary: Jisung falls in love on the 11:22pm train. It's a little like magic.





	spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> not beta read so all mistakes are because i'm a dumbass

 

          For Jisung, Thursdays are the absolute worst.

 

          Thursdays mean classes all day and then late nights commuting home on public transport because her dance class runs till 11pm. Don't get her wrong, Jisung loves her dance class —  loves the rush he gets from performing, the way she can manipulate her every movement to create art and language through rhythm. It's a special kind of connection that not everyone can understand. And yet, once she steps foot out of the dance studio she feels like death.  All her energy and that electric feeling dissipates into the night, and all she can think about is how long the train will take, how many minutes away she is from that comforting hot shower.

 

          And if she's unlucky — like today — her dance instructor will run overtime, not by much, maybe only six minutes, and she'll be forced to sprint with her backpack and heavy legs all the way to the station in order to catch the 11:22pm train. And if she's especially unlucky, she'll make it to the station just in time to see the train blur past, pushing cold air against her already red nose.

 

          Tonight, the station is quiet apart from the buzz of the overhead lights illuminating the platform. A couple stands huddled together against the cold at the other end of the platform, wrapped up in a warm overcoat.  Jisung’s tattered sports jacket clings to the goosebumps on her arms like wet newspaper. She curses as an image of headphones laying unpacked on her desk flashes past her eyes. A quick glance to the schedule board suspended overhead tells her that the next train won't be until 11:42pm, a whole fifteen minutes away.

 

          She spends a good ten minutes kicking rocks up and down the platform, making sure her legs don't cramp after her sudden sprint to the station. If only her mother didn't work night shifts, then maybe she could have been picked up and already be tossing her shoes off into the shoe rack and absorbing the heat from the radiator at home. She has a long, complicated history with that radiator — fond memories of burns against the back of her thighs when she stood too close to the hot metal. It all seems like a luxury now.

 

          An elongated horn blare jolts Jisung out of her musings as the train pulls into the station, carriages lit up like shopping mall windows at Christmas time. Her rock soccer had taken her to the end of the platform, meaning that she will board the last carriage which she usually avoids because it's the furthest from the exit at her home station. But she really cannot be bothered anymore, so she boards with the positive knowledge that the last carriage is always empty.

 

          Well, except for tonight it would seem.

 

          A girl sits against the window at the back of the carriage, eyes closed and head resting against the pane of glass like baby Jesus lays against Mary's breast in Sassoferrato’s _Madonna and Child_. Well, if that's the correct painting anyway — Jisung only attended one or two art history classes. The girl has her earphones in, one manicured hand curled around an expensive looking smartphone in her lap. 

 

          Her hair is blonde like Jisung’s, but it's a noticeably nicer dye job than Dongsook’s masterpiece on her head. It falls into her eyes, slightly curving past her dark eyebrows.  There are a thousand tiny stars pulsing under her lashes, catching the artificial light from above and flickering like tiny beacons. There's a pink dusting on her cheeks, probably because of the train's heating. Condensation forms on the window as the stranger lets out even, soft breaths.

 

          Jisung chooses to sit across from her, fascinated. It could be love at first sight she supposes, if this was Murder on the Orient Express but with less murder and more sixteen year-old lets her gay tendencies run wild at twenty to midnight.  But it's fine, totally fine. The girl remains asleep anyway and Jisung isn't a creep. She just wants to admire. Maybe feel a little less lonely.

 

          Upon closer inspection, the tiny stars under the stranger’s lashes aren’t stars at all, but rather little specks of blue glitter. In fact, there’s glitter all over her face and in her hairline as if she’s tried to scrub it off but hasn’t managed to get rid of those last persistent remnants. It’s cute, in Jisung’s opinion, makes the girl seems like some kind of magical creature pulled from a fairytale picture book. She shoves the next thought, _she’s pretty_ , to the back of her mind — the dark, closed off place where she stores every word that comes out of Jaemin’s mouth. 

 

          Sooner than she’d like, she’s shaken out of her reverie by the automated announcement bouncing off the carriage walls politely relaying that she’s arrived at her station. Opposite her, the girl lets out a breathy sigh and nestles her head into her shoulder, cracking one eye open as Jisung disembarks.

 

          As the train leaves the station for the next stop, Jisung catches a glimpse into that last carriage. From behind the scratch-graffitied glass, the girl catches Jisung’s eyes, maintaining eye contact until the train disappears into the darkness.

 

          Maybe her heart flutters, maybe it doesn’t. No one’s around to know any different.

 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

 

          “Okay, so let me get this straight—”

 

          “Well, I wouldn’t say _straight._ ”

 

          “Can you please let me finish? God, Jaemin, you’re so annoying,” Dongsook huffs, “anyway, _as I was saying_ , you’re crushing on a girl you saw for ten minutes on the train, who, by the way, you’re claiming is — and I quote,   _‘too pretty to be real’_ — and you told Jeno first? The betrayal.”

 

          “That’s because I’m superior,” Jeno counters. From across the cafeteria table Minkyung scoffs, which turns into panicked wheezing as she chokes on her drink.

 

          “You say you’re superior, but who has Renjun as their lab partner?” Jaemin grins, sticking out her tongue childishly. “Checkmate.”

 

          Jeno pouts and hurls a leaf from her salad at Jaemin. Jisung sighs. She knew this wouldn't go down well, but something stupid within her (read: Jeno’s nagging bordering on blackmail) had made her blab all about over text. She should've known really, girls smiles as pretty as Jeno's always have a higher, darker, purpose.

 

          “I don't understand what possessed you to tell pathetic-gay Lee Jeno before me, critically acclaimed elite-gay Lee Dongsook, but I want the deets,” Dongsook drawls, pointing one chopstick at Jisung’s nose threateningly. Minkyung rolls a glitter adorned eye and snatches the offending chopstick from Dongsook’s fingers and back onto the table.

 

          “I don't know, it's not that wild, really,” Jisung replies, pushing her food to the edges of her tray.

 

          “Jisung, please. I need _something_ , even if it's nothing. It'll be like a breath of fresh air in contrast to Jeno and Jaemin’s angsty love triangle that they've trapped Renjun in,” Dongsook pleads. She reaches over the table to clasp Jisung’s hand in her as if she were dying, blinking rapidly to summon forced tears.

 

“It’s not an ‘ _ angsty love triangle _ ’, thank you very much, we are in the process of wooing her, and stop pouting like that, you look like a dead fish,” Jaemin scowls, “that shit only works on Minkyung anyway.”

 

          “Hey! This is a shame free zone, it’s not her fault that she’s a dumb bitch.”

 

          “Guys, I'm right here.”

 

          “I feel like you’re definition of ‘wooing’ is a little whack.”

 

          “Jisung! Please, tell me about your manic pixie dream girl before I kill someone,” Dongsook moans.

 

          “Ah, well, she has a cute nose, I guess? Uh, she was blonde, like me, but better,” Jisung replies, “like professionally done — and she had pretty nails, I don’t really remember exactly.”

 

          “Wait, like that chick over there at Renjun’s table?” Minkyung asks, gesturing to the back half of the hall behind Jisung.

 

          Jisung whips her head around so fast she’s sure she should have a broken neck, eyes searching not so subtly for the table Renjun frequents in the corner of the cafeteria. And sure enough, the angel from yesterday is seated happily, munching away on an apple. As if she could sense being watched, the angel glances back and meets eyes with Jisung’s table, promptly turning back to Renjun and whispering something. At this, Renjun narrows her eyes, then scowls slightly as she receives a flirtatious wink from Jaemin.  

 

          “Oh my god, don’t look over all at once! You’ll scare her off!” Dongsook scolds.

 

          “Oh, she’s cute, you should totally go for it,” Jeno reports, holding out her yoghurt lid for Jaemin to lick.

 

          “Jaemin, you’re lactose intolerant,” Minkyung scolds.

 

          “You should talk to her,” Jaemin interjects, ignoring Minkyung completely, “she can’t like you back if she doesn’t know you exist.”

 

          “I can’t do that, I physically cannot do that, I would die,” Jisung says, expression blank.

 

          “C’mon, Ji, don’t be shy! All endeavours in love should be forwarded by confidence,” Jaemin proclaims, kicking Jisung’s leg under the table, “that’s my rule for a successful love life.”

 

          “Yeah, 'cause that’s working _so_ well for you two,” Dongsook smirks, giving Jaemin her biggest plastic smile. Jisung rolls her eyes.

 

          “Fuck off,” Jaemin growls at the girl, then turns to Jisung with her trademark radiating smile, “anyway, I think you should just go for it. You’ll be missing out otherwise.”

 

          “I think you should just let things pan out naturally,” Minkyung murmurs.  

 

          “Exactly! Let fate do all the work for you! You give out good energy sometimes, so you’re bound to receive some,” Dongsook adds, patting Jisung lightly on the back of her hand.

 

          “She buys a pack of tarot cards once and thinks she’s psychic,” Jeno mumbles under her breath.

 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

 

          Jisung’s life falls apart in front of her eyes on Tuesday afternoon in her least favourite class, biology with Ms. Choi. Firstly, biology is the worst because its biology, its _science_ , and Jisung hates school, next. Also, Ms. Choi is the worst (actually worse than worst) teacher, the type who counts your bathroom breaks during semester and teaches using documentaries and crosswords from the eighties. She’s also apparently the type who assigns permanent seating arrangements and lab partners for the whole semester. Jisung prays to whoever’s listening that she’ll be lucky enough to get someone who’ll do all the work for her, like Jaemin had gotten Renjun whom she sits and stares at while the other writes notes so they both pass. 

 

          “Jisung, come sit up the front with Chenle, please,” Ms. Choi instructs.

 

          It doesn’t hit her at first. No, at first she’s more annoyed that she has to sit at the front of the classroom, right under Ms. Choi’s nose for the whole semester. Sighing, she picks up her untouched textbook and notebook and walks towards the front desk where Ms. Choi is pointing with her obnoxiously long ruler. Despite Jaemin’s great epic on pursuing her romantic life, Jisung had ultimately decided that rejection was not worth the risk and had as a result, avoided all musings on her mystery girl. Besides, to her luck, it would seem that she didn’t share any classes with the girl, so maybe fate really did hate her.

 

          Or not.

 

          She slides her books across the desk with a little too much vigour, wincing as they collide with her deskmate’s plastic pencil case, sending it and its contents careening across the floor. An expensive looking mechanical pencil glides gracefully across the linoleum and then disappears under Ms. Choi’s mahogany desk, probably never to be seen again.

 

          Luckily everybody else in the class are too absorbed in their own conversations to bat an eyelid, so the pending embarrassment decreases by at least a half. Still, she’s too embarrassed to meet her deskmate’s eyes, choosing instead to scramble under the table to collect the fallen stationery. She fumbles for a good minute trying to catch the runaway pens in her long fingers, before finally smacking them down on her partner’s side of the desk from below, somehow managing to hit her head on the edge of the desk in the midst of her most hurried and awkward ‘sorry’.

          “Jisung! Please get back into your seat, I have a class to teach!” Ms Choi trills, slapping that goddamn ruler against the whiteboard.

 

          Cringing, she pulls herself up into her seat. Ever since her unexpected growth spurt had slapped her across the face in eighth grade, her knees have become quite acquainted with drawers and her head with door frames. Forehead and desk is new, though. She spares a quick glance at the girl next to her, hoping she doesn’t have to face the wrath of an angry deskmate for the rest of the semester.

 

          To her horror, the angel from the train looks back at her, a slightly amused smile on her face. Premature death without earlier symptoms is pretty rare in teenagers, but Jisung is ready to be dusted up and smacked into a coffin, pronto.

          “Oh my god, are you okay?” the angel asks, pressing her fingers lightly to the tender skin on Jisung’s forehead.

 

          Now is probably a good time to stop staring like an android that needs re-circuiting and close her gaping mouth. The angel creases an eyebrow in concern, hand coming to wave faintly in front of Jisung’s face.  

 

          “Ah, yeah, why?”

 

          “You just smashed your head, you could probably hear it from the back row,” she exclaims, stifling a giggle behind one manicured hand.

 

          “Oh, that. Yeah, I’m fine, all good,” Jisung rambles, her mind racing far too fast for her mouth.

 

          “If you say so,” she sing-songs in reply, scribbling down the dates Ms Choi is currently writing on the whiteboard, “I’m Chenle, by the way.”

 

          “Uh, I’m Park Jisung,” she replies, an awkward half smile forming before she can suppress it.

 

          “I know,” Chenle smiles, clicking her pen off.

 

          “Huh, you know? You know me?”

 

          “Yeah, you’re on the school hockey team, aren’t you? My friend makes me go with her to watch matches sometimes,” she replies, zipping her pencil case shut, “I was there last week when you tripped over the stick thing and got a mouthful of dirt. Plus, Choi just called your name, so...”

 

          “Ah, yeah, right.”

 

          “Can I get your number?”

 

          Chenle blinks at her expectantly, holding out her expensive smartphone with the _add new contact_ screen open. Instead of entering her number like any other normal person would, Jisung looks up at the other girl and lets out her most stupefied:

 

          “Huh?”

 

          Great response, she knows. It's just that the thousands of thoughts swimming nonstop laps from one end of her mind to the other leave no room for the rest of her brain to function. You know, the important parts like her vocabulary and social skills.

 

          “It’s just that there’s a paired report project due that’s like 40% of our grade, so we should probably meet up sometime,” Chenle explains, pulling the hem of her uniform skirt towards her knees.

 

         Oh, _oh_. 

 

          “Ah, right,” she finally replies, inputting her number, desperately hoping her face doesn’t look as red as it feels. She hands Chenle back her phone, who promptly pockets it and turns back to the board.

 

          They meet after school in the library, which, Jisung thinks, is not that bad. Well, she’s never been in the building because she doesn’t believe in studying, but the space is nice. Chenle stands up as she enters, waving at Jisung to join her at the table like its nothing, like it doesn’t make Jisung’s heart beat irrationally fast.  

 

          Chenle smiles, teeth beaming an almost unnatural white like a marble countertop that’s just been bleached. It reminds Jisung of the worst days of summer, when everything is too warm and the sun is a little too blinding, a little too eager to be intimate. If she had a tan and maybe a couple of freckles, Jisung could think of her when she listens to San Cisco. For a second, she thinks to tell her that she’s pretty, but she just can’t do it. If that smile turned towards her she’d die, probably from radiation off those pearly whites.

 

          “I hate bio,” she says instead, tossing the textbook onto the table.

 

          Chenle laughs. “Yeah, I gathered that much. If it's any consolation I’m not that fond of science either.”

 

          “Yeah, I don’t think anyone in their right mind is,” Jisung replies. She counts it as a win when Chenle stifles a giggle at her comment, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

 

          “So,” she starts, “you know anything about mitosis?”

          Jisung stares at her blankly.

 

          “Alright, I’ll take that as a hard no,” Chenle laughs.

 

          “There’s no point in listening, it’s not like I’m gonna need science after school,” Jisung says, underlining nothing in particular on the page of the textbook that reads ‘mitosis’ at the top in big green block letters.

 

          “What do you wanna do? When you’re finished with school?”

 

          “Dance,” Jisung answers immediately, then pauses before continuing, “I know it’s kinda hard to make a career out of it, but it’s what I like doing.”

 

          “I saw you, y’know? On what was it? Thursday?” Chenle muses, biting a chunk out of a muesli bar that she seems to have conjured out of nowhere.

 

          “Yeah, I got out of dance class late,” Jisung says, “I saw you then. On the train. You had glitter stuck to your eyes.”

 

          “Yeah, it’s called eyeshadow. We’re doing _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ for the winter play at the community centre,” she explains, “I’m playing one of the fairies. It was dress rehearsal, but I may have been a bit heavy handed with the glitter.”

 

          “I don’t usually get the train that late though, I hate walking home at night. Plus its freezing,” Jisung whines.

 

          “Huh, really? Me too! The coordinators changed the day of dress rehearsal for no reason. Maybe we were destined to meet,” Chenle smiles.

 

          Something worms its way into Jisung’s chest, a feeling like dread and excitement in one, sinking heavy between her ribs and then bursting upwards like a flare, or confetti, or motion sickness.  And she thinks, uh oh, I might just be in love. Except you’re probably not supposed to fall in love that fast, so she archives the feeling away as a crush. Intense crush. She shakes it off and focuses back on the project at hand.

 

          They spend the better half of an hour or so divvying up the project, settling on compiling their ideas onto a classic poster board presentation which Chenle insist on covering the cost of materials for. Halfway through, which is about two hours later, Chenle falls asleep with her head resting on her sleeve, a bright red gel pen still a prisoner in her tiny hands. Her other hand rests on the curve of the study desk, slowly losing circulation and twitching every now and then as she dreams.

 

          Jisung pretends to write for the first twenty minutes, thinking that maybe she can impress Chenle if she gets their project moving forward. It takes her twenty minutes to notice the line of her characters skewing off the page and onto the etched and graffitied grey of the study desk. She hums to herself and plucks the pen from Chenle’s grasp, zipping it away in her pencil case. And for good measure she pulls up her phone and snaps a single picture of Chenle with her hair in her mouth and drool seeping onto the glossy print of her textbook.

 

          By the time they leave the library, the stars are out and shining brightly through the thin mist beginning to form along the heated earth. On the public bus on the way home, Jisung saves the photo as Chenle’s contact picture.

 

          (Later that week at school, Jaemin catches a peek and promptly screeches into Jisung’s ear, “oh my god, she’s so cute!”. Jisung squeals and slams a hand across Jaemin’s mouth with a nervous _shh_ , as if Chenle were to appear around the corner and find out about her crush.)

  
  


*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

  
  


          Funnily enough it’s on a Friday that everything spills over. Fridays are supposed be sacred, the last day of the week before the blessed weekend. You’re supposed to dread Mondays, anticipate Fridays. Yeah, no.

 

          The two had decided to meet up to finish the project at Chenle’s house, since the library was closed on weekends and there was only half a week left before it was due. Chenle had mentioned in passing that she lived comfortably, but Jisung never really took that information into consideration. Now, standing in front of the white lacquered wood door, Jisung feels intimidated by even the peeling gold-imitation paint on the door handle.

 

          She shoots Chenle a quick text that she's here, observing the tiny spider weaving a web between the folded leaves of the artificial plant sitted in the doorway. Not even ten seconds later she receives a message, _the doors unlocked come upstairs!!_ , followed by a string of emojis. 

 

          She pushes the door open with a click, making sure to lock it behind her. Toeing off her shoes, she takes a moment to absorb the family photos resting on the white buffet table against the far wall. Chenle looks radiant in every single print, a beaming smile plastered on her face. Feeling a little out of place, she moves towards the staircase on right, through the kitchenette. She stops at the landing of the stairs, peering up to the second floor.

 

          “Chenle?” she calls out, hearing a fluster of movement coming from above.

 

          “I’m upstairs! First door on the left!” Chenle hollers from past the landing, voice chiming down the hall.

 

          Jisung hikes up the carpeted staircase, schoolbag smacking against the back of her legs with every step. Chenle’s bedroom is not as big as Jisung had expected it to be, but maybe that’s because most of the walls are covered with notes, pictures, and dried flowers. Oblivious to Jisung’s presence Chenle scurries between her desk and bed, sweeping papers into the bin with the back of her hand, a rushed method of making her room display-home clean.

 

          Her phone dangles precariously between her fingers, while the much beloved biology textbook sits in the crook of her elbow, other hand working in a flurry to push the abundance of plushies off her bed and under it. With a sudden jolt the phone slips from its cradle and plummets towards the fishbowl waiting patiently on the desk.

          Half a second before the device meets its watery doom it stops, hovers in the air like it’s being held by a string and floats into Chenle’s waiting hand. At first she assumes her eyes and mind have betrayed her. Surely she’s just exhausted from having dance class and hockey practice two days in a row, _surely_ it’s all a dream. A daytime hallucination.

 

          But then Chenle casually unlocks the phone and swipes through her notifs, as if nothing strange just happened. The other girl’s nonchalance hits her and she realises that this is _normal_ for her, normal, because it would appear that her potential girlfriend is a little less human than she had first seemed. An involuntary whimper escapes her throat before she can stop it, sounding like it was filtered through a megaphone in the quiet of the room. At the strangled noise, Chenle whips around, mouth falling open at the sight of Jisung standing right behind her.

 

          “Oh my god, please don’t tell me you saw that,” Chenle squeaks. Her eyes are impossibly wide, standing stiffly as if just caught in the act of trying to rob a jewellery store. Jisung’s opens her mouth a few times but nothing comes out, which Chenle must interpret in the worst way possible, letting her hand fall open and promptly dropping the phone onto the carpet.

 

          “I’m dead, I’m dead, I am _so_ dead, oh my god,” she babbles, clutching her hands to her chest, “I can’t believe I let a human see that, idiot, idiot, I’m such a dumbass. Oh my god, I’m gonna get banished, or worse, the Council will strip away my powers,” she wheezes, suddenly clinging onto the front of Jisung’s blazer.

 

          “Uh—”

 

          “You cannot, and I mean can absolutely _never ever_ , tell anybody about this! Please, you have to promise,” Chenle begs, shaking the taller girl by her lapels, “my future is at stake here.”

 

          “You’re not gonna die, are you?”

 

          “No, it’s just I can’t get my caster’s licence to practise magic until I’m eighteen, and one of the qualifications is that I can’t expose my abilities to humans, which I just did, oh my god,” Chenle rambles, now pulling at her own hair in frustration, “why am I telling you this? You’re not supposed to know anything!”

 

          “Am I the only one who knows?”

 

          “Renjun knows, of course, she’s a witch too. Shit, don’t tell her I told you,” Chenle says, slapping a hand over her mouth.

 

          “Wow, Jaemin’s gonna love that,” Jisung mutters.

 

          “Huh?”

 

          “Nothing,” Jisung stutters, “anyway, shouldn’t we get started on finishing that project?”

 

          Chenle blinks at her blankly.

 

          “Aren’t you freaked out? Why aren’t you having a colossal breakdown?

 

          “Honestly, I don’t think it’s hit me yet. Yeah, I’m a little freaked out, but we need to get this project done,” she replies, setting her bag down and pulling out the heavy science textbook.

 

          “Since when did you care about the project?”

 

          “Well, since you said you wanted a good grade, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be in on that too,” she confesses.

          “So you care about me?”

 

          “I care about your grades,” she corrects. Well, lies.

 

          “Okay,” Chenle says, “okay.” She has this tiny inkling of a frown creasing her brow, which Jisung hates, and hates even more because she’s probably the cause of it. As soon as it had appeared it disappears, and Chenle gives Jisung a small hint of a smile, lips not quite curling up enough to know that it’s not completely genuine.

 

          “You want a snack or something? My brother works at the bakery across from the station and he always brings home leftover pastries,” Chenle offers, procuring a brown paper bag from behind her.

 

          “I—”

 

          “Seriously, just eat with me,” Chenle interjects, “there are too many carbs in this house.” She throws in a pout for extra measure, patting her stomach lazily.

 

          “Okay,” Jisung acquiesces, accepting the pastry.

 

          “I’m pretty sure its hereditary, or at least I’ve had it since I was born,” she explains. A flake of pastry sits unbothered on her lower lip.

 

          “So, there could be other witches at school? Like, other than you and Renjun?”

 

          “Yeah, why not? It’s pretty easy to blend in with humans, I guess because we are basically humans with extras. My parents hated sending me to kindergarten though because you can’t really control your abilities when you’re young. I’m pretty sure I may have turned one of my friends into a mouse one time,” Chenle reminisces,  “I think her parents reported her missing for a few days until the transformation wore off.”

 

          “Can I see? Just once? Your magic?” Jisung squeaks.

 

          “Well, technically I’m not supposed to practise magic without supervision until I get my caster’s licence...but for you, I guess I could break a rule or two,” she grins, fingers slipping between Jisung’s own. “What do you want to see me do?”

 

          “So, can you like do a spell or something?”

 

          “You're gonna have to be a bit more specific,” Chenle smiles, amused, “you wanna a charm? Or something a smidge more hands on — like a hex, or maybe a curse if you're feeling a bit spicy...”

 

          Jisung gapes.  She can’t do anything but watch her crush, sorry, her _witch crush_ , ramble on about her witch business, the words rushing through Jisung’s head, falling on deaf ears. _Pretty_ , is all her head can formulate.

 

          “...can't do potions unsupervised anymore after I accidentally liquefied mum's spice cupboard, so if you wanna turn into a frog or something I'll need some warning.”

 

          “It’s okay, something simple I guess — I don’t wanna do something lame like pass out or something,” Jisung eventually responds, toying with the embroidery on the quilt on Chenle’s bed.

 

          Chenle gives a short, breathy laugh, bringing their entwined fingers to meet halfway between them, resting softly on the blanket. She’s still for a moment, absorbed in concentration before she smiles ever so slightly.

 

          “Close your eyes,” Chenle instructs, adjusting herself to sit up straight, “now, count to seven out loud, but don’t open your eyes!”

 

          “Is this part of the spell?”

 

          “Yes, it’s the most important part of the incantation so you can’t open them,” Chenle directs, inching closer ever so slightly.

 

          “Okay, one, two,” Jisung counts, voice shaking faintly in anticipation. In the quietness of the afternoon her voice sounds uncomfortably loud in the space of the room. It smells like fabric softener and artificial vanilla, a headache-inducing kind of sickly sweet.

 

          “Three,” she can feel Chenle in front of her, warmth emanating from the closeness of her body. She smells good, like expensive perfume from a department outlet — the kind she would collect tester strips from because she can’t afford the bottle.

 

          “Four, five,” she whispers, her voice beginning to tremble slightly in its mix between voice and air.          

 

          “Six.”

 

          “Seven,” Chenle breathes, leaning forward to press her lips lightly against Jisung’s.

 

          Soft. Tender. Curious. Jisung feels like she just got hit by a bus in her heart, and it amplifies by a thousand each millisecond until, finally, Chenle pulls back.

 

          There’s a faint glow on her the roundness of her cheeks, as if a rose is blooming beneath or she’s just sprinted through the snow. Jisung opens her mouth to speak, stuttering nonsense under her breath. Chenle rolls her eyes and pinches Jisung’s cheek.

          “You’re cute,” she smiles.

 

          “You have an eyelash under your eye,” Jisung responds dumbfoundedly, extending a finger to brush it away, conscious of her poorly trimmed nails gliding across Chenle’s cheek. She giggles as Jisung’s finger shakes gently on her face, clutching her fingers in the palm of her hand and leans in to kiss her again.

 

          She’s so caught up in the kiss that it takes her a good few moments to notice the snow falling softly around them. It catches in her hair like tiny shooting stars, quietly blanketing the room with a light layer of white, melting just as quickly as it appears, materialising in the air like, well, _magic._

**Author's Note:**

> thought i already posted this, but i didn't :((
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gfminyoung) !!! please i'm lonely


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